


Hardly Working

by Antiseptic_Beauty



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 08:57:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14745791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antiseptic_Beauty/pseuds/Antiseptic_Beauty
Summary: Good behavior has never really been Dokkaebi's forte.





	Hardly Working

When he enters, she's idly misusing the British government's computers to play solitaire on one terminal and watch some cutesy Japanese cartoon on the other, her legs tucked against her chest and her chin resting on her knees like a bored teenager. Scenes like this make him regret the day he ever talked Six into recruiting her instead of having her arrested for hacking into Rainbow's database - the extenuating circumstance, of course, being that she has essentially been made his responsibility.

Still though, she's useful. Most of the time.

"Working hard as usual, I see..."

Grace spins her chair around excitedly. "Mark! You're back!"

He's returned from a busy conference in Cheltenham - despite now being attached to Rainbow, Mark's loyalties still lie partially with his former employers at GCHQ, and he continues to work closely with them. He's still dressed in the creased office shirt and now-loose tie he's been wearing since yesterday. Like Grace, he's wearing his glasses; unlike Grace, he actually needs them to read - in this case, the reams of files he's currently allocating most of his attention towards. His eyes dart across the pages as he flicks through them, never so much as shooting a glance in her direction.

"That's "sir" to you," comes his predictably curt reply. "So, did you decrypt those files like I asked?"

Grace musters the most sheepish expression she can pull off. "What files?"

Well, that gets his attention.

"You're having me on..." he starts.

"I'm kidding," she states, as if it were a given; all the while reveling in the reaction she got out of him. "What exactly were they for, anyway?"

"'Fraid that's on a need-to-know basis," Mark retorts, "and you don't need to know."

Failing to think up a snarky comment to throw back at him, she simply sticks her tongue out, feigning irritation.

It really is like working with a child.

He sits himself down opposite her, continuing to flick through papers, occasionally annotating one or signing the other, while she idly clicks away at her computer, still presumably not doing any work. He'll give her some menial task to occupy herself later.

Minutes of silence pass, and Grace stirs a little. Mark knows she's going to pipe up and say something excruciating soon because he can see her in his peripheral vision, petulantly fidgeting with a pigtail or adjusting the backrest of her chair. Sometimes he tells her to stop it, that she's distracting him, but then he'll just get reeled in to some petty bickering with her. He's seen her file. She's an attention seeker. An act. And a bloody good one, too, he thinks.

I mean, she has to be. Nobody is actually this annoying.

"I'm huuungry," Grace predictably groans, right on cue. "When's lunch?"

Mark checks his watch. "Ten minutes. You can go ahead; I had mine on the way here."

"Selfish," she flings at him.

"You what?"

Grace sighs, like she's having to explain something patently obvious. "Who am I going to have mine with?"

Mark shrugs. "Not my bloody problem," he scoffs dismissively. "How 'bout that mate of yours?"

She snorts.

She knows full well who he's referring to: Chul Kyung Hwa, her former SMB colleague, whom it also happens she can't stand. It's not that he's particularly difficult to work with; Grace is just paranoid. She's confided her eccentric conspiracies about him with the nerdy Brit; something he enjoys teasing her about every now and again.

"He was asking after you again, y'know," Mark continues. "Wanted to make sure you were on your best behavior."

"Ugh. He's obsessed..."

Mark lets out a rare chuckle. "Yeah, well, it's sort of his job to keep you out of trouble, innit?" he reminds her. "And to be fair, you don't exactly make it easy for him."

Grace rolls her eyes. "You didn't tell him anything he didn't need to know, did you?"

"'Course not," he assures her, "Couldn't have him grassing on my favorite skivvy, could I?"

He curses himself internally. _'Skivvy'. Chrissakes, Mark, what fucking century are you living in?_

He doesn't exactly paint with words; the crux of the reason he tends to avoid casual discussion. Right now, he can practically feel her vexed eyes boring into him, her face contorted with indignation.

But when his eyes finally do meet hers, she's grinning like an idiot.

"Your favorite, huh?"

_Shit. I did say that, didn't I?_

"Yeah, well, uh - y'know, you're alright..."

Grace brushes some stray hair behind her ear, her self-satisfied smile undiminished. "Well, for the record," she avers softly, "you're my favorite too."

Her comment catches him completely off-guard, and for the first time in ages, he can't think of anything to say. His mind is completely blank, and he just sits there, staring at her, waiting for the words to come.

But they never do.

"I'm going to get something to eat," she suddenly declares, hopping out of her seat. "See you later, _sir_."

She enunciates that last word, punctuating it with a mocking salute and a sly grin, and she's not even out the door when Mark feels that dreaded wave of warm crimson invading his cheeks.

_Oh, bollocks._


End file.
